Ghostwalker 06 - Predatory Game

the shadowy figure of the man in the wheelchair. Swearing, he tried for a better angle.
    “I think you killed him, Stan.”
    “He was shooting at me. What the hell was I supposed to do, Bob?” Stan felt around for his flashlight.
    “The damn thing’s dead. He put a bullet in it.”
    The two men remained where they were, observing what they could see of the body, taking care not to expose themselves to further gunfire. Jess had positioned the chair so only a part of it could be seen from the door, the rest hidden by the alcove. He remained silent. There was a third man still alive, and Jess willed him to enter the basement. He couldn’t attack until the man was inside, but he remained stubbornly cautious.
    “Get your ass moving, Specialist,” the one near the doorway urged. “And you’d better hope you didn’t kill the bastard. I’ll cover you.”
    Jess felt the beginnings of a smile. Yeah, dark hair in the doorway had it right. He was a bastard. He lived for this.
    “Hooah, Sergeant.” Stan started down the stairs and the second man moved onto the landing. His gun was steady on the body slumped in the wheelchair. Jess remained still, silently urging the third man to join the party. For a moment it looked as if it wouldn’t happen.
    “Keep the talk down until we have the bastard,” another voice snapped.
    Bob moved completely to one side, giving the other man, who was obviously in charge, the better position. Immediately he stepped inside the room as well, shifting to the left of his partner.

    Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    The door to the basement slammed closed behind them, plunging the room into darkness. The two men closest tried to open it, pounding and rattling the doorknob, swearing and kicking at it, but the door held fast.
    The stairs and landing began to shake, gathering momentum until nails and screws began to pop out of the frame and drop to the floor. There were shouts. Stan fired his gun, the sound deafening in the small space. The flash blinded everyone even more.
    “It’s an earthquake,” Bob yelled. “You’re going to shoot one of us, Stan. Just hang on until it’s over.”
    The shaking grew worse until the boards on the landing and stairs began to break apart. Stan yelled hoarsely as he fell and the two other men followed, one grabbing at the rail and swinging by his arm before dropping to the floor below.
    “Son of bitch. Son of a bitch.” Stan scuttled across the cement toward the wheelchair, his gun aimed at the dead man’s head.
    “It’s a fucking earthquake, Stan,” Bob shouted again.
    “This is no earthquake,” the one in charge snarled.
    “It’s him, Bob, you moron. It’s him. I told you it was true. I’m killing the son of a bitch.” Stan pulled the trigger several times, the bullets tearing into the body in the wheelchair. The body jerked with the force of the impact and the dead man slumped over, sliding down in spite of the belt holding him to the chair.
    Stan crawled closer, moving around the protruding wall housing the hot water heater. Jess rolled swiftly into position, each move already mapped out in his head. His arm slipped around Stan’s throat and clamped down hard in a half nelson. Stan thrashed wildly. He was a big man and his feet drummed on the concrete as he tried desperately to break the stranglehold Jess had on him.
    “Stan! What the hell? Get a light, Ben. We need a light,” Bob shouted.
    There was an audible crack and Stan’s feet went still. Silence settled into the room. There was only the sound of heavy breathing as the two intruders fought for air, adrenaline rushing through their veins.
    “Stan?” Bob said again, this time his voice low, a conspirator’s whisper.“Answer me.”
    “Get over there and check it out,” Ben said in an undertone.
    “Screw that. We need a light.”
    “Yeah, you find one. I dropped mine when your little earthquake took out the staircase.”Ben’s voice dripped sarcasm.
    There was another silence. Bob sank down onto the floor, his back to the wall. His eyes were beginning to adjust again to the dark as dawn crept over the horizon. He could just make out the shadow of Stan’s body lying on the floor beside the wheelchair and another body slumped in the chair. “I think they’re both dead.”
    “Check.”

    Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    “You want me to check?”
    “Damn straight. Check so we